RP:The Devil's Advocate
Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc
Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc
This is a Healer's Guild RP.
This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.
Summary: Redhale strolls into ruined Larket and encounters Sabrina as she works to help rebuild in the wake of those earthquakes. The witch hunts are brought up just as Larewen arrives, joining the fallen king in offering aid to those that are being persecuted. Also, Sabrina accidentally gives Larewen breath… briefly.
Towering Tenements
Stone tenements rise high on either side of the street, made of granite, the gray stone covered by trellises of ivy. The vast majority of Larket's citizens live here, with its convenient, central location and moderate rents. A steady stream of humanity flows in and out of the iron gates, running up and down the stairs, laughing and talking. It is almost as if this is a smaller city inside Larket itself. Harold, the designer and overseer of the construction of the tenements, has an office on the ground level, where he still offers his services. The street runs into the town center to the east, and off into a quieter part of town to the west.
Sabrina had her sleeves rolled up, heaving a 4x4 stud into a hole most likely dug by the man sitting on a boulder wiping sweat from his brow. Thigh-length hair is tied up in war braids and despite her own sweat she works through the heat in cotton pants and militaristic boots. “How many more?” She asks, clearly unaccustomed to manual labor and that fact is evident of her slight and five foot stature. “Fourty six.” She exhales in a preteen nature and props her hands on her hips. “You said that five posts ago.” The man simply shrugs and chugs on his pig bladder.
Redhale had wandered a long way and gathered quite the entourage over the course of his journey; animals, undead, the odd lost child and even a few grown ups had been swept along in his wake, minds addled by the illusion magic that surrounded the creature. Usually his appearance would be enough to scare most of the critters off, but today, for some reason, Redhale appeared much like a normal man. For starters, it appeared he had a normal body, complete with four limbs. He was dressed in rather fancy clothing, and had even forgone a hood to display a healthy head of hair that would definitely had long rotted away, as anyone who knew the man would guess. His appearance even came with music: A jaunty whistling tune and the faint sound of marching drums matched his stride, which probably went a long way to enticing those that had followed him given the way they swayed and bounced while they walked. The only thing off about him was his face, which was still represented by his porcelain mask and looking doubly spooky due to the fact that, without a hood, the mask seemed to physically merge with the illusory skin of his head. He stopped at the worksite suddenly, glancing quickly around and shrinking back a little as if he had only just noticed the damage that the city had been subject to. As he did this the music stopped, and the cloud of followers shook from their daze, most of them confused to find themselves in the middle of Larket and a great many of them milling about the worksite, undoubtedly getting in the way of Sabrina and her companion’s hard labour.
Sabrina turned her head towards the small herd of various bodies. She didn’t bother exchanging a look with the male present, but if she had she would have only seen him rise momentarily towards the merry tune. He manages a few paces before he stops, looks at the pigskin draining what was definitely not water in a short four-step trail to his present position. No she really did look at him, but her answer was one beyond confusion as wide eyes visibly retraced his steps. Sabrina steps back, out of the path of a wayward donkey that is giving a ride to a mostly-hairless lemur who had gone into plucking his own colors from his skin. The only one of the bunch that didn’t seem affected by this setting was Redhale so naturally her attention goes to the elephant in the room. Her hand moves to a strap that nearly blends in to the blackness of her pants. “You one of those witches?” Elvish is always her first version of questioning, and with the plague of ‘justice’ that was going about meant that if he was a witch he might become hostile to the non-witchy types. With good reason.
Redhale, if not entranced by his own illusions, had at least been in some sort of reverie, as evidenced by how slowly he cottoned on to Sabrina’s questions, “Witches? Which witches?” His voice was clear and human, almost tuneful; a far cry from the undead rattling he and his kind were usually heard making. Currently heard making, as the dozen or so rotters he had brought along with him had suddenly been given their autonomy back right in the middle of a pack of food. It wasn’t long before the nude lemur was snatched up and plucked a lot closer than they ever would have liked, “...No, I’m not a witch. Not in the traditional sense, at least.” He raised his hands – normal, flesh covered hands as they appeared – above his head in an upside-down V to indicate the pointed hat of a storybook witch, “Did witches steal your buildings?” If his mask wasn’t so recognisable, this naive creature would probably never be mistaken for Redhale.
Sabrina’s brows knit together. “The witches.” As if to explain it all while she switches to whispers. “The ones they are rounding up.” The mismatched gaze of one good eye of brilliant mint and a blind one that was milky with a scar that runs through it from brow to cheek turns to the cluster of rotters, more wary of them than the one in front of her like she should have been. She met him once before, not in this form and barely in this lifetime. It was no wonder why he didn’t seem the slightest bit familiar, besides, she is distracted as a wobbler sways back under the premise it was about to grab a bite to eat. She is small, but fast, weak but well versed in anatomy as her fingers curl around a handlebar of gooey jaw where she twists the mandibular clean off and rocks the being off its center to fall back into the choir of undead chatter. A small girl’s head is cradled to her waist, ever the protector it is too late when she realizes there is no life force coming from that one either. The girl’s teeth manage to latch on to her belt and spare the flesh but she is pushed with cruel force to follow her comrade. “Get your devils under control… do you know what Larket does to your type?” Even his deniability would not save him from the camps. If she were more intuitive to the nature of evil things she would have been considering different outcomes. Like. Maybe this is his intent, to enter the camps with that kind of power and free his witchy brethren before they meet a distasteful fate. Her head whips around to a dire scream, something she could probably see if she were a mere few inches taller.
Redhale’s attention was turned to the crowd around him, again reacting as though he were seeing them for the first time. As he did so Sabrina would feel a weight lift off her; it had been hard to notice at first, but while his gaze had been fixed on her the attention of the man had pressed down on the woman like the weight of the sea on a deep diver. Just as a few of his boney fellows began to give chase to a small group of townsfolk Redhale waved his hand towards them, curling his fingers almost playfully. A voice completely unlike the one he had spoken with rumbled from the earth and the marching drum started up again. The zombies seemed placated just as the people they had been chasing dropped all emotion from their face before slowly, creepily, great smiles of joy spread across their lips. They, and those all around who had come with Redhale, were grinning so wide it looked like it must hurt, and began laughing, clapping and dancing. Sabrina herself would feel the call, a rumbling of laughter stirring in her belly as the sound of a raucous crowd singing familiar tavern songs and childhood rhymes filled her head. If he could be heard over the phantom music Redhale would apologise, “Forgive the young ones. They know not what they do. Tell us more of your witches; why wont they give your houses back?” Being unanswered, Redhale apparently still assumed the damage to city was due to wart-nosed witches snatching parts of the housing and infrastructure.
Sabrina didn’t feel lighter, she felt more like she could breathe for the first time after having been without. It was odd to her, and everything was happening in such a chaotic manner she couldn’t even calculate her next steps like she normally would. If not for the sickness rising up in her gut she would swear on Sven this was some horrible and twisted nightmare, but the discomfort rises and she turns once more to the origin. Her head is still trying to keep up with the math of it, and probably to Redhale’s dismay she didn’t seem as joyous as maybe his other prey might have been. She was far from anger, which in her case is nearly the same as some people’s glee; having to suppress ones emotions for the better part of six hundred years gave an individual a certain advantage when it came to being manipulated by them. Her head began to ring, she could hear him but not hear him- like she was understanding in deaf stupidity. She nods. “Forgive them.” Her mouth falls open, an effort being made to pop her ears or rattle her consciousness to a more wakeful state. Her fellow labourer skips past her, elbows high and jaunty with knees-to-chest steps tapping to a very chipper tune. “No… no, an earthquake.” She looks back up to him with both eyes having gone to stark white. She was fighting it, what ever -it- was. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
Redhale didn’t seem disappointed in Sabrina’s resistance, commendable as it was. He hardly cared for the effect the spell had even on the undead he had purposefully controlled with it, and who were now forming a dancing circle with some of the similarly entranced locals, twining their arms around each others shoulders as they skipped this way and back again, “The witches caused an earthquake? That is powerful magic indeed.” He spoke gravely, as if he were the kind of person who had never seen more than one sorcerer in a room, let alone the kind of magically induced madness that surrounded him right now. With his attention on Sabrina again that breathless feeling would return, although thankfully the sound of the music grew quieter, which would probably elicit real feelings of relief even while the small part of Sabrina’s mind that felt the lure of the spell was disappointed it wouldn’t get to hear the trombone melody that had just begun to weave it’s way into the concert, “My name is Redhale, of Sage, Xalious and Vailkrin. And what should I call you, who fears the witches so?”
Larewen makes no attempt to disguise her identity as she strolls through Larket; there is no attempt at drawing in those tendrils of dark and unholy magic that create a sort of aura around her. Certainly Redhale might feel the necromancer's approach sooner than Sabrina, for those necromantic energies may flow through those enveloped in such a macabre dance. Her magic carressed their unliving bones with the sort of tenderness and love that only a mother could produce - and why wouldn't it? When she told Redhale she had no intention of returning his people to slavery under her rule, she meant every word of it. To Larewen, vampires and undead alike are hers. They are the children her body will never bear. Her right eye follows a familiar thread of magic and her feet are guided by a bond instilled when Daath first began teaching her necromancy. It is this that Larewen uses to seek out Sabrina, for the healer is the only Larketian that she considers anything more than simply another blasted thing that breathes. It is as Redhale speaks his introduction that the necromancer appears and the very subject she means to breach is spoken perfectly. Her lips curl into a familiar smirk and this is the greeting cast toward the two.
Sabrina caught up in a shoulder bump, and then two before she steps clear of the circle. “It seems to be the consensus.” She exhales a long slow breath as relief creeps in on the static that is attacking her whole body. “Some of us have our doubts.” She breathes again, this time a test check to make sure it is on her own accord. The only thing she was keenly aware of at this point was that in the middle of this circus anything either of them said would be in the sort of confidence of ‘he-said-she-said.’ She was findng difficulty in catching her breath, and so she deliberately breathes in again, the action exaggerated but tolerable. There was a tickle of having missed out on something potentially grand that lingered on a back burner in her mind, his spell reminding her of the Cobra trance. Logic told her that what ever she was missing out on was probably for the best. “Sage, Xalious, -and- Vailkrin.” A breath. “You have quite the spread.” Was she yelling? Surely her voice was somewhat raised, the background still finding a way to filter in. “Redhale.” She heard it before. She knew it. From where. “where, where, where.” She was talking to herself under labored breathing. She releases a single profane word in Common. His last words caught her clearly enough. “I do not fear witches.” Not a lie, not totally. She turns to Larewen and that rank and draining energy she brings with her. It must be Sabrina’s lucky day to be met with such atrocities to her natural and life-giving self. She really thought she might be sick at any moment but she keeps it together for the sake of neutrality for so long as it lasted. She repeats herself with more commitment as Larewen smirks after Redhale’s greeting. “I do not fear witches.” Was she cautious, yes. Did she trust them? Not usually. Did she fear them? Hell no. Artia could attest to that. And she softens toward the woman. “But I do have an aversion to proximity.” The tendrils of Larewen’s negative energy would clash unseen against the positive nature of Sabrina’s own. A challenge that said ‘ Woman put your weapon down.’ Surely Daath would have told her something of this.
Redhale’s spell grew bolder each time Sabrina affirmed her courage in the face of the witches, and the crowd of creatures’ playing grew even more wild. A pack of children and a large deer with ribbons wound around its antlers shoved one of the posts Sabrina had planted back and forth, a puff of confetti shooting up from either side of the stud each time it was pushed while its rocking widened the hole it had been set in. The bursts of air carrying the coloured paper carried that music with them, the clashing of cymbals ringing out from the ground at least much more pleasant than the rumbling of an earthquake. As Larewen approached she might hear the music more clearly than Sabrina; for her the drums and horns wouldn’t be muffled as if underground, and the singing may as well have been coming from the mouths of the crowd themselves. Redhale’s wilful ignorance of the whole scene was almost the strangest thing about it, but for a cheery swaying in his stance which matched the beat of the march, “Would you like them to come with me instead? As you say, I’ve made homes far and wide, and invited many others to do the same.” Larewen, knowing him a little better, might assume he was asking to let the witches join him and his in undeath, though it seemed just as likely that he would merge them with this bizarre parade he had brought with him.
Larewen does hear the music and there is a mismatched glance spared in their direction for a long moment before the two opposing magics came together betwixt necromancer and healer. In response, the elf pulls the darkness back toward her, loosening its oppressive aura. Another time, another place, the unspoken challenge may have drawn a more direct confrontation of magics, but for the moment what relationshp did exist between the two guildmasters, though strained, is desirable. Redhale's words are like music to Larewen's ears and she dares assume that his query mirrors the one she came to ask. Her steps halt when she is as close to Sabrina's essence as she can tolerate, a dark brow arching upward. It is upon the latter that her attention fixates. "The witches, I hope? To Vailkrin? There is a home to be had there, for them. If not yet within the City itself, then within the walls of House Dragana they can be housed for now."
Sabrina was under attack, whether each of these entities knew it or not she could only take so much. She found herself standing alone, a life raft being swallowed by a sea of death she could not combat at once and she was contending against it just to remain upright. As if sensing her unease a beast appears from the west, seething and snarling purposefully with all intentions of tasting blood. He slides past the mass of frolicking idiots, coming to a halt at Sabrina’s side. Her eyes had shifted to match the unholy half-breed of obsidian scales and clearly born of the seven hells. Three sets of eyes focus on the three, primarily and he becomes stupefied quite suddenly. He lets out a growl of deliberation, his massive head turning to Redhale, then Larewen, and Sabrina. Taking each one in turn a second time. For once in his life he did not know what to do. He obviously related to two of these creatures, and the other he needed to keep alive for self-preservation. He was truly at a loss. For the time being he just sits, having no clue where in this cluster his loyalties are supposed to lie. The healer reluctantly twists her head to her shoulder, clearly something was the matter as she shutters lightly. Composure was one of her better skills and still she was losing even that. “St-stop… it.” She demands at a mere whisper while her eyes sink into an abyssal blackness, swallowing up the whole of her sclera. Fighting this mental rampage with blocks was proving inefficient, she had involuntarily succumbed to the internal war. A shaky breath precedes a scream that could easily be described as shrill as it cut into their conversation quite rudely. “STOP IT!” Redhale and Larewen would have felt the blow, being what they were, as they are washed with a concentrated wave of pure life energy. She was a being of immense constraint, but when it came to overtaxing her fortitude the consequences were enough to make a Vampire feel the pain of a beat or two. What ever organic tissues the Obscenity had left might have borne witness to a momentary lapse in their decay.
Redhale looked as embarassed as a masked person can for the outburst Sabrina made. One might have thought that the scene would come to an abrupt halt, with everyone pausing to look at Sabrina as she shouted, but either Redhale didn’t think the words were for him or he didn’t care, because the music kept on playing. The audience, however, were more affected by the plea. The stronger willed amongst them would feel the tug of Sabrina’s magic and let it lead them out of their stupor, with their responses varying between trying to shake the younger spellbound subjects awake, carrying friends off in spite of the tantrums doing so elicited, or simply running to save their own minds. Still, many remained immersed in the song, perhaps willingly, although thankfully the command had touched their minds enough to stop a good number of them that had begun to disrobe and let them keep partying with some modesty. Redhale held one twitching hand out in Larewen’s direction, even as he remained focused on Sabrina lest she try anything more wily with that life magic of hers, “Now, they needn’t come to Vailkrin. Perhaps they have a home already. Everybody was born somewhere, maybe there’s family they’d like to return to. We can bring them. It isn’t any trouble.” A surprisingly kind offer for what was essentially an onerous reaction to Larewen’s suggestion.
Larewen blinks at Sabrina's outburst and her mouth falls open to say something, but there's no sound. The pulse of life that shoots outward from the healer finds ever-so-briefly in Larewen that vampiric curse and... swallows it. For two, three agonizing seconds, the elf feels the worst pain she's ever felt and, as a result of that fleeting breath, the runes emblazened upon her flesh activate. Verdant flames light up their immediate proximity as the necromantic spells within her flesh hasten to restore the upset balance within Larewen. A dark heat rolls off her body, and then... death returns. It is a sweet, sweet feeling, but that's a hard thing to tell with the way the necromancer's features twist into a scowl. Moonlight flashes off the point of her fangs, and then she reins in that dark energy once more. She wears it like a death shroud. Redhale receives a narrowed stare at his words. "If a witch is here in Larket, and has a home elsewhere, she's a fool, Redhale," she says coolly. Then, to Sabrina, "I am offering them refuge - and the protection of my House."
Sabrina ’s eyes lazily sway to those so lucky to have made a departure. Rohk is looking at her like she has gone mad, Redhale remains irreverent, and Larewen regrettably suffers the most for that little outburst. With eyes closed for better focus she weakly responds. “Apologies.” She takes to leaning against the hound, for a moment anyways as he shrinks away from this embarrassment in front of such formidable comrades. The Healer only stumbles briefly but houses a sour look towards her companion. She was barely following along in the seemingly distant discussion when she mumbles “I’ll take them.” Disguise them in Guild robes, right here in Larket. She didn’t want witches in the hand of that already powerful monstrosity- good or bad it appeared as though he had a way of taking things under his wing. “I can smuggle them safely out.” For the good witches it would be a godsend, for the more questionable types it got them out of her goddam city. Win-win. It would have all sounded very professional, if not for the builder who had profound mental weakness noted by his nakedness as he attempts to whirl Larewen into the festivities. Wearing no more than sparkling confetti and a full salute, he dares to wrap his meaty hands about her waist in frivolity.
Redhale hadn’t suffered as much as Larewen at the tide of life magic, or if he had he hadn’t shown it, so was quick to counter her remark, “If you think that most people aren’t foolish then perhaps the greater fool is you.” His entourage had drawn close to him now, perhaps whatever spell Sabrina had cast limiting the range of his effect, but those still entranced were cutting loose as much as ever, clapping hands and hollering to add their physical noises to the illusory symphony. Their noises would carry much further too, and more of Larket’s populace would begin to turn their heads to see what was going on along this little street; perhaps not the most ideal situation for planning a clandestine escape for their captured villains, “Would joining the guild grant them immunity?” Redhale asked as if genuinely curious, and for a moment appeared to be dressed in the very robes Sabrina had suggested, looking quite the part even if he knew not a single spell to repair living flesh, but as those watching blinked to make sure of what they were seeing his clothing returned to the sleek, black dress jacket he had arrived in, if perhaps offering a glimpse of the horrific black blob between blinks, “I’ll be on the lookout for any witch hunters.” He nodded and begun to stride away, walking ahead of his adoring crowd like some kind of band leader and leaving a trail of heavy trodden earth and muddied streamers in their wake.
Larewen bristles at Redhale's words, her temper nearly finding hold. Carefully, she checks it and flashes the entity an all too sweet smile. "Fools aren't worth my time," she replies coolly. It is at this moment that she acknowledges Rohk, recognizing the hellhound from her first encounter with Sabrina. A kinder, gentler nature buried within the elf wants to pet him. And coddle him, too. Then there's arms curling around her waist and the necromancer's muscles tense. A low growl rumbles in her throat and it takes every single bit of self-control to keep from twisting on her heel and ripping the builder's throat out. Her nostrils flare and she twists free of the unwanted embrace, darkness contorting her features. With the aid of glamor magic, a facade of nightmares tears free of her flesh and the spell that keeps the man entranced is interrupted. He pales and scurries away, the sour smell of urine trailing behind him as she returns her attention to the conversation at hand. To Sabrina, she says, "You made me breath. Don't do that again."
Sabrina blinks at Redhale’s illusionary robes, so like those adorning her people and she took offense. Her brows come to concentrated tightness and before she could think further on it he had slipped the veil into his more customary garb. The problem with Sabrina’s ‘magic’ is that it wasn’t magic at all. Mysterious in nature, yes, as it harnessed and took hold of all the natural elements of any arena and temporarily umbrellaed her immediate space, fading at the edges as what lingers sinks back into the organic compound of which it was stole. She was a conduit, not a conjurer. In fact, magics light and dark had very similar effects against her natural order. If a druid was ever truly at one with her environment it was most definitely the Ardent that stood before him. It was the people that plagued it. “No.” She answers him finally, disgusted at the idea of him feigning amnesty behind her guard. Of course it would protect them, if only they followed the rules- it was to their best interest. When he begins to take his leave she feels relief in every retreating step he takes. When he mentions the witch hunters she absentmindedly exhales a name. “Eirik.” It was like she could hear herself saying it but couldn’t stop. Her mouth clamps shut and her eyes dart to the dark one. Did he hear her? With all that banter she hoped not. Sabrina would not intervene with Larewen’s lessons towards the builder, in truth she was happy someone finally put him in his place, Gods knew she had been dealing with his general jerkiness for the better part of the day and night. She even gives a chuckle as the glisten of hot pee catches the moonlight. With Larewen’s words she straightens right out. About that… she is speechless but she does wince, regrettably and gives a nod of understanding. She had technically died before, more than once. It also meant she had come back, and she knows this pain too. Regeneration was not without its downfalls.
Larewen knows that name. Not by choice, naturally. Her encounter with Eirik had been brief; they were both in Rynvale. Her nose wrinkles. Fortunately, by this time her face has returned to normal. "Then disguise them as members of the Necromancer's Guild. Tell your King they've been recalled; that I had sent them to Larket to learn a few things about life that will be valuable in their future studies," the elf says simply. It's actually kind of odd, considering Larewen is working to save innocent lives presently. The irony is not lost on her and that smirk quirks upward into something more genuine, more pleasant. She glances after the fallen king as he departs on a patrol before looking back to Sabrina. "If you can stand to travel to the Dark Lands, I would like to speak with you another time. I don't much care for this place and its persecutions. Otherwise, Cenril or Kelay." With that, Larewen bids Sabrina adieu and turns, nonchalantly making her way back to the City of the Damned.